Chapter 3
My words were like tossing a pebble into a calm lake, stirring up waves everywhere.
I deliberately dropped tons of hooks, just waiting for those curious people online to start digging.
Derick was so full of himself that he never cared to tell me about the women he was seeing.
He thought I was clueless.
What he didn't realize was that my detective had already uncovered every dirty little secret about that young model.
I wanted to let everyone know, in the most casual way possible, that I knew exactly who she was.
That "allergy medicine" I brought up was a trap I set.
Derick really did suffer from seasonal allergies.
But I'd already switched out the allergy meds by his bedside for nothing but regular vitamin tablets.
I had no clue if he actually had an allergic reaction last night.
But right now, he must be desperately hoping for one.
Because right now, that was pretty much the only cover he had.
I scrolled through the comments and saw Derick's fans frantically trying to defend him, thanking me for being such a wise and gracious wife.
Meanwhile, the regular netizens were completely baffled.
Now was the perfect moment.
I reached out to grab my glass of water from the table.
But my wrist "accidentally" knocked over a folder on the table next to me. just as I'd planned.
With a loud thud, the folder hit the floor, and the papers spilled out all over the place.
I quickly bent down to pick them up, acting all flustered.
The camera followed my movements, focusing on the floor.
One of the papers landed face up.
At the very top was the letterhead of the local men's hospital.
In the middle, it clearly stated the patient's name was Derick.
At the very bottom, in the diagnosis section, a few words were circled in bright red. [Sexually Transmitted Disease (STD) Positive.]
The live stream paused on that moment, as if time itself had stopped.
A hush fell over the stream.
For ten whole seconds, everything was eerily silent.
It was as if thirty million viewers all stopped breathing at the same time.
The comments vanished.
The world was so quiet that all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
I pretended not to notice anything, still fumbling around to pick up the scattered papers.
I said, "Oh no. I'm so sorry..."
I kept babbling, my voice sounding flustered.
My fingers finally touched that damning report.
Just as I was about to grab it, the live chat blew up.
A person wrote: [Holy shit!]
Another wrote: [What the hell am I seeing?]
Someone wrote: [Derick is STD positive!]
A person wrote: [Am I freaking blind? The men's hospital? An STD? What the hell?]
Another wrote: [So it wasn't a skin allergy, it was a sexual disease?]
Someone wrote: [No wonder he had to go to the hospital. No wonder he needed that young model to take him. I'm seriously gonna puke!]
Someone else wrote: [Girls, I got a screenshot. It was crystal clear. Derick is STD positive!]
A person wrote: [Holy crap, this is the biggest scandal of the year. The movie star caught something nasty from his messy private life?]
Another wrote: [So Gillian's whole allergy thing was just an excuse. She knew the truth all along. She was covering for him!]
Someone wrote: [Covering for him, my ass. Did you guys even see what she just did? That was totally on purpose. This is ultimate revenge. She is so damn savage!]
In just thirty seconds, public opinion online did a complete turn.
If the cheating scandal only left a smudge on Derick's reputation, then this STD report was a straight-up nuke, obliterating the persona he'd spent years building.
Cheating was a matter of morals. It was bad, but still within the realm of personal choices.
But catching an STD and risking infecting others crossed a line for the public.
It was the kind of visceral, stomach-churning revulsion that made people want to gag.
I finally grabbed the report, stuffing it back into the folder in a frenzy, like I was desperately trying to cover up a massive scandal.
I looked up at the camera, my face showing just the right mix of panic and helplessness.
I stammered, "You didn't see anything, did you?
"This isn't real. It's all just a misunderstanding..."
My voice shook, and the tears poured down my face even more.
But this time, no one felt sorry for me.
The comments were blowing up with celebration.
A person wrote: [We saw it. Mrs. Shorts, you're a legend!]
Another wrote: [She's going in for the kill. This is what a real wife does. One shot, and it's game over!]
Someone wrote: [I'm crowning Gillian as my queen of the year. She's so badass!]
Someone else wrote: [Derick's commercial value is wiped out overnight. Mark my words.]
I watched the comments fly by, my heart icy and eerily calm.
I wondered if Derick was listening.
This is what he wanted, after all.
He pushed me into the mud, so I clawed my way out of hell. just to pull you down with me.
I managed to squeeze out a shattered smile for the camera.
"Sorry, I'm really not in a good place today. That's it for the stream," I said.
Before anyone could respond, I shut the stream off in one swift move.
The room fell silent again.
I pulled out another phone and dialed Hugh's number.
"Mr. Mcgee, it's time," I said.
On the other end, Hugh's voice was practically buzzing with barely contained excitement.
He said, "Gillian, that move was absolutely savage.
"The whole internet's going wild over Derick's diagnosis. Every brand he's ever worked with is blowing up my phone, desperate to cut ties and demand compensation.
"I've already filed the divorce petition and the property division request with the court.
"The evidence is rock solid. With Derick as the one at fault, he's walking out with nothing. It's a done deal."
I just responded with a flat response, feeling nothing at all.
"Thanks," I said.
After hanging up, I pulled open the curtains.